


more hope than expectation

by helsinkibaby



Category: FBI (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Community: 1-million-words, F/M, Fluff, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: Late at night, there is a knock at Jubal’s door.
Relationships: Kristen Chazal/Jubal Valentine
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40
Collections: 1 Million Words' Weekend Challenge





	more hope than expectation

**Author's Note:**

> For the one million words weekend challenge, Christmas carols, but not to use the song as a song being sung in the Fic. This was the prompt as I was given it ...
> 
> _28 is Here We Come A-Wassailing, which refers to the tradition of going door to door singing carols and wishing the owners of the home good fortune. In return, they were given wassail (spiced beer, ale or mead with apples), money, pork pies, or let in to warm cold limbs by the hearth._  
>  There is no singing, there is no wassail (but there is not chocolate) however there is letting someone in to warm cold limbs by the hearth... so yay?

“Kris? What are you doing here?” 

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Jubal wanted to take them back. Not because of the way that Kristen’s gaze dropped, how she seemed to visibly wilt at the question, although that would have been reason enough. She looked even more defeated at that moment than she had in the office at the end of the day, her first day back at work having been spent in one of the conference rooms being interrogated by a department shrink. But the real reason he could have happily bitten his tongue clean off was that he’d spent more nights than he cared to think about imagining this very scenario - him at home, about to turn in for the night, the doorbell ringing and Kristen standing on his stoop. 

He’d imagined a damn sight more than that, but he’d never imagined those words passing his lips, and certainly not Kristen taking a step back, still not meeting his gaze. 

“I’m sorry, it’s late, I shouldn’t have...” She shook her head and Jubal swore he could see a thin sheen of tears in her eyes. 

There were many things in his life he could cope with. Kristen’s tears were not one of them. 

“Hey.” Keeping his voice gentle was an effort. Keeping his grip gentle as he closed his hand around her wrist was not. “I didn’t mean it like that.” His mind jumped tracks as his hand lingered on her skin. It was like ice and he looked her up and down for reasons far removed from the reasons he usually looked her up and down. “Jesus, you’re freezing.” 

She huffed out a soft, humourless laugh. “I was out jogging... and I ended up here.” 

Jubal frowned. “That was some jog.” She looked down again, the toe of one of her running shoes twisting against the concrete step. He bit back a sigh as he tugged at her arm. “C’mon... come inside.” 

He didn’t have to ask her twice, even as she shivered as she stepped into his apartment and the heat hit her. He looked her up and down again and it was a no-brainer to go over to the fireplace flick a switch and have the gas flames roar to life. When he looked over at her again, a smile played across her lips and the sight, rare enough since the day they were all trying so hard to forget, almost took his breath away. 

“To think,” she murmured, “I had to talk you into buying that thing.” 

“Oh, I remember.” He remembered everything, every teasing comment she’d made, every time she’d reminded him about it when they were curled up on his couch together, her head on his shoulder, his fingers playing with her hair. 

Then she’d become a field agent and there had been a conflict of interest and they’d told themselves they weren’t that serious, that they could go back to being friends. 

Jubal had realised pretty quickly that he’d been wrong about that. 

And that was before he’d stood in a hospital corridor watching her fight for her life. 

He pushed the thought away - he’d had a lot of practice - but when he saw a tear creeping slowly down her face, he figured he might not be the only one revisiting that day. 

“Kris...” Her name was barely a breath on his lips and he didn’t know which of them moved first but the next thing he knew, her arms were wrapped around his waist, her hands making fists in the material of his T-shirt. She buried her head in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs and he couldn’t do anything but hold her, resting his cheek on top of her hair as she cried herself out. 

He didn’t need to have read the psych evals to know this was the first time she’d let herself fall apart. They’d only confirmed his suspicions. 

Eventually, she lifted her head, looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry-” she began but he wasn’t having that. 

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You know that.” 

She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I’m scared, Jubal... all the time. And I hate feeling like this. Talking to that shrink today...” He felt her shudder. “I could push it all back until then. I got home afterwards and it felt like the walls were closing in on me...”

Jubal knew that feeling. Running had never been his coping mechanism, but he figured hers was a damn sight healthier. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told her and he didn’t think twice about leaning in, brushing his lips across her forehead. Running his hands down her arms, he could still feel the chill on her skin, even through her clothes, even with the heat of the fire and his body pressed against hers. “Why don’t you go upstairs?” he suggested, only realising how it sounded when she arched an eyebrow. “That old hoodie of mine you like so much is still in your drawer,” he added quickly and something like surprise flickered across her face. “There’s a shirt there too... possibly a pair of leggings you left in the laundry that I keep forgetting to give back to you..”

He expected her to tease him. Instead her hands landed on his chest, her touch as soft as her voice. “You still call it my drawer?” 

He did it because that was what it was, that was how he still thought of it. He didn’t say that aloud though, just shrugged. “More hope than expectation,” he admitted and this time, the sheen of tears in her eyes was accompanied by a smile.

“Thank you.” She closed the distance between them then, returning her head to his shoulder and pressing her body against his. A little hum of contentment sounded from the back of her throat and once more, he found himself speaking without thinking. 

“”Do you want to stay?” She didn’t move, stayed pressed against him, and he took that as a good sign. “I can make some hot chocolate... we can talk. Or not, Not is fine too.” Perhaps sensing that he was about to start babbling, she lifted her head, smiled one of those smiles that made time stop. “Whatever you like.” 

“Yes,” was all she said and though she didn’t specify what she was saying yes to, it was enough. 

And when she came back downstairs a few minutes later, his faded old hoodie swamping her tiny frame, looking more relaxed than she had in months, it was more than enough. 

It was everything.


End file.
